


You Shant Go Alone Into Darkness

by BeautyGraceOuterSpace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyGraceOuterSpace/pseuds/BeautyGraceOuterSpace
Summary: “Jim,” Scotty breathed in disbelief, forcing the words out against the lump in his throat, “Jim, Christ, what have ye-- I have te-- let me get the doctor, won’t be but a minute, just let me--”Scotty was already rising unsteadily to his feet when he heard the soft whisper.“Not Bones.”An exploration of a concept I hinted at in another of my fics, written as a gift for the Star Trek Secret Santa Fic Exchange.





	You Shant Go Alone Into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the 2017 Star Trek Secret Santa fic exchange. As always, thank you to the lovely ensanguind for editing.

When he finally came to, it was to blurred vision and a throbbing ache in his eye. The lights were too bright, and the sounds of the engineering deck around him were far too loud-- the usually familiar, comforting purr of the turbines and warp core bounced around his skull like echoes in a cavern, leaving a dull pounding in their wake.

He prodded gently at his eye with his fingers, and silently cursed the son of a bitch that was James T. Kirk as he set about removing the safety belts that had been secured around him.

And then he _remembered_.

He was hit with a wave of dizziness as he sat bolt upright. “Shite,” he murmured, clutching at his head. He shot to his feet, stumbling a bit and listing to the right, grasping blindly at the console as he fought to stay upright. He staggered towards the doors, his heart sinking, stomach twisting painfully as he braced himself for what he knew he would see.

God, how he wished he was wrong.

He wasn’t wrong.

Jim lay just beyond the glass, slumped in a heap on the floor, face down and limbs askew-- he had been trying to get to the door.  

A choked sob burst from Scotty’s lips as he fell to his knees. He pounded the glass barrier, his fingers splayed wide; the sweat on his palms making a horrible squeaking sound.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, glancing around the chamber, eyes darting frantically as he searched for a solution, _any_ solution that would allow him to get Jim out of there.

He knew he wouldn’t find one.

With a roar of frustration, he slammed a fist against the lucite, sending the thin layer trembling from the force. The decontamination process wasn’t complete and wouldn’t be for another four and a half minutes, if the countdown on the nearby screens were any indication.

Four and a half minutes.

Jim wasn’t going to make it.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as Scotty stared helplessly at his captain-- his _friend_.

And then Jim moved.

With great effort, panting heavily and groaning in obvious pain, he shoved himself onto his knees with trembling arms and forced himself to close the distance to the door, slumping against the glass in exhaustion, his forehead meeting the barrier with a dull _thunk._

“Jim,” Scotty breathed in disbelief, forcing the words out against the lump in his throat, “ _Jim_ , Christ, what have ye-- I have te-- let me get the doctor, won’t be but a minute, just let me--”

Scotty was already rising unsteadily to his feet when he heard the soft whisper.

“Not Bones.”

Staring aghast at the younger man, Scotty’s own chest began heaving in panic.

“Wha-- but _sir_ , we have to get you--”

“That’s an order, Mr. Scott,” Jim breathed quietly. There was no strength, no authority in his voice, yet Scotty felt compelled to obey.

Jim knew he was going to die. He had known it from the moment Scotty had told him about the warp core.

He had known, and he had sacrificed himself anyway.

“Please, sir--” he begged, pressing his hands to the glass in a desperate-- and futile-- attempt at comforting them both. “I can’t-- Jim, you know I’d do anything for you, sir, but… don’t ask me te let you…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Not alone, sir. Please. Let me get someone.”

Jim shook his head, a tiny, barely-there movement that screamed of urgency. “Not Bones-- he can’t see-- he won’t be able to--” exhaling shakily with a wince, Jim looked him in the eye. “ _Please_ , Scotty.”

Even as his chin quivered, Scotty agreed, “Aye, sir. Not Bones.”

Scotty understood all too well what Jim meant. Seeing Jim like this, watching the life leave him and being unable to stop it? It was destroying Scotty; it may well break the doctor.

His limbs heavy with reluctance, Scotty retrieved the communicator from his belt. His eyes never left Jim, even as the captain’s gaze grew unfocused and his breaths grew more pained.

He tucked his head, and fought back the sob that caught in his throat.

“Engineering to bridge… Mr. Spock? Sir-- you’d better get down here… you’d better hurry.”


End file.
